


O’ The Pain You’ve Felt

by ifellinahole_22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), the maze runner
Genre: Chuck is dead, First movie/book only, Gally is alive, Stiles is Thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 10:10:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20329438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifellinahole_22/pseuds/ifellinahole_22
Summary: Stiles/Thomas and the Gladers escape W.I.C.K.E.D and make it to Beacon Hills where some of the residents insist they know him.(One of the ways I wanted Stiles/Thomas to have a reunion with the pack after W.I.C.K.E.D)





	O’ The Pain You’ve Felt

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this one shot!! :)
> 
> I own nothing

Scott jumped off of his dirt bike, ripping the helmet off of his head and throwing it down, heart beating a mile a minute as he sprinted through the hospital parking lot to the ER doors. He hurried inside the building, being left alone with his thoughts as he frantically pressed the elevator door button.  _He’s alive! After months of nothing, he’s finally home! _Scott tried to focus on the excitement and relief he got from knowing that his best friend was alive, and to ignore the begging questions creeping into his mind.  _Where had he gone? What happened to him? What if the Stiles they got back wouldn’t be the same Stiles that they’d lost?_ The elevator’s soft dinging pulled him from his thoughts as he reached his desired floor.

As the doors opened he saw his mother on the other side of the hallway, still on duty, wearing her blue scrubs. She had been the one to call him there in the first place, telling him the good news. The hospital had received a call, they were to be expecting about half a dozen kids, each in their early to late teens, identified as the ones having gone missing over the past three years. He tried not to be disturbed by the fact that over fifty teenaged boys had gone missing and how that number had somehow dwindled down to less than ten. He wasn’t sure if Stiles was one of the ‘lucky’ few to have been rescued. For all he knew, Stiles could be dead, but that was one of the possibilities he refused to consider over these past months. He just knew he was alive, he had to be. He had to believe that, if not for himself or for Stiles, then for the Sheriff. The man had been through a lot, he couldn’t lose his son too.

He locked eyes with the older man as he rushed over to his mother, surrounded by the pack he’d created for himself; Lydia, Allison, Boyd, Jackson, Erica, Issac, and surprisingly, Derek. They’d all grown closer and had somewhat grown into one pack overtime, after having been on somewhat friendly terms after the final showdown with Gerard and the Kanima. Allison and Lydia were with him all the way and wherever Lydia went, Jackson followed. The others took a little time, Boyd and Erica developing loyalty towards Stiles, and in turn, Scott, after what they’d been through together in the Argent’s basement. Which Scott found out about shortly after Stiles went missing, when the two wolves came to him to offer their help, instead of leaving Beacon Hills like they’d planned. Issac was a little more loyal to Derek, who wasn’t happy about the recent series of events, whether Stiles was missing or not, he’d rather stay away from the McCall clique, which didn’t sit well with the others. After some reminding from the others that Derek owed them one (at least). The man eventually relented, conceding after remembering a specific situation where Stiles had held him up in a pool for two hours while he was paralyzed.

It wasn’t long after Stiles’ disappearance that Scott had informed the Sheriff of the existence of werewolves, the man was having a hard enough time as is, trying to explain the numerous serial killers in Beacon Hills, the least they could do was take care of the supernatural parts of their lives and he could focus on the human. They also were able to keep him in the know on how the search for Stiles was going, with six werewolves with heightened senses on his side, he’d know that everything possible was being done to help find his son. Still they had nothing. Until that call.

“What’s the word?” Scott asked as he reached their group. There were several other nurses and doctors standing in the hallway, awaiting their arrival, same as the pack, ready to provide medical attention. His eyes drifted over everyone there, standing in attention at the turn of events, Lydia having grown closer to Stiles in the time before his disappearance, looking as worried and confused as usual when it comes to the supernatural, despite being in the loop. Beside her was Jackson, who looked bored and almost put off at his being there, he was never really fond of Stiles, but Scott could tell he was, at the very least, interested in the situation. On the other side of Lydia was Allison, she and Scott had long since broken up, but had remained friends, still he was determined to try and win her back. The other half of the huddle was Derek’s section, his betas clad in leather jackets matching his own. Their allegiances had shifted from Derek to Scott little by little, but some things never change. 

“The helicopters haven’t arrived yet,” Melissa replied, nervously shifting from foot to foot, her hand occasionally anxiously brushing her hair back from her face. She’d filled in the rest of the group on what the excitement was all about when she called them all in, yet she was hesitant to actually say that they had actually found Stiles, the possibility that he might not have made it back weighing over them. 

“Apparently, some military groups, discovered a facility out in the desert, where they found seven teenagers,” she’d continued.

Issac spoke up, “Look, I’d hate to say it but, how do we know that one of them is Stiles? He might not even be with them.”

Melissa turned her attention back to the elevator doors on the other side of the hallway, willing the doors to open and Stiles to walk through them. 

She sighed anxiously,“We don’t,”

XXX

Thomas watched as the facility holding the Maze and The Glade grew farther and farther away as he was pulled back by his arms and dragged out of the building, looking on as a stung and semi-conscious Gally was dragged out after him. Soon Thomas was met with the blinding sun and the scorching heat beating down on him, his feet dragging in the desert sand, watching as they left the facility door open after breaking in, Thomas still able to see Chuck’s lifeless body laying still on the ground. The thought of leaving him in that place ate him up inside, as he kicked and cried out. He continued sobbing, the tears offering a cool relief he didn’t deserve to the blinding sun aggravating his eyes. As he was dragged to a helicopter, what was left of his friends already having been ushered inside, Thomas came to the sickening realization that the others in the Glade were long since dead, the escape Thomas promised having saved almost none of them. 

So he sat there, having cried himself out, resting his head against the helicopter window, one bloody hand clutching at the small wooden carving his dying friend placed into it, pressing his clenched fist firmly against his chest, and he watched as they flew, high above miles of desert that they’d been imprisoned by. They’d escaped the maze, but this was far from over.

XXX

The hall had grown much more crowed as time had passed, what used to be just nurses and doctors, preparing to treat wounds, had become floods of people looking as anxious as the pack did.  _Families_, Scott realized, they were there for the same reason he was. 

Melissa had to practically beg the Sheriff to sit down, his nervous pacing having been very distracting, so he sat in one of the vacant uncomfortable hospital chairs, leg bouncing up and down rapidly, achingly familiar to the kind of behavior Stiles displayed, his head snapping over to the elevator every time he heard its bell chime. After awhile, Melissa had run off to help prepare for the oncoming arrivals with the other doctors.

Scott sighed nervously and brushed the hair on his forehead back, a gesture not uncommon for him these days. Allison was next to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder to placate him, he knew she was just as worried, having watched her biting her nails and chewing the inside of her cheek for the past ten minutes. 

He was pulled out of his daze as the elevator doors chimed once more, the people in the hallway around them starting to make their presence known as they watched two armed soldiers dressed in black, step out of the elevator. Behind them was a small crowd of five teenagers, all male except one, each covered in a decent layer of grime, various amounts of blood decorating their clothing and skin. As they stepped out, they looked around the hospital calculatingly and tense. Behind them entered two more guards, holding another boy by his arms, one on each side. He stood there head hung until they began to move forward, when his head snapped up, patrolling the room as if preparing for a fight. As if by the flick of a switch, the teen’s exhausted and helpless slump had transformed into an angry and suspecting fighting stance, his size seeming to have doubled in that moment, ready to face whatever threat he’d been expecting. The others ahead of him, as if sensing the change, tensed too. The transition looking strangely instinctual.

The soldiers led the young man forward following the others, and Scott’s heart dropped as he got a good look at him. He wore dark worn-in boots covered in dirt and a weird slime, he had on dark blue pants and a discolored light blue shirt, the front of which was almost entirely covered in blood, from what he could see of his hands, which were handcuffed for some reason, his wrists were covered by short leather wristlets, and equally as bloody. Scott’s eyes continued up to face him, even though he knew who it was.  _Stiles_. His eyes reached his face and took him in, long gone was his buzzed head, he now sported much longer hair, matted against his forehead, his face was covered in a layer of grime and sweat, tear tracks were shown in the dirt in his face, accentuating the dark circles forming under his eyes, looked exhausted. His eyes. Somehow with significantly less like in them than he’d remembered, a whisky brown he could recognize anywhere. It was him. He looked so different, his hair, his frame, once described as skinny and scrawny now showed a broad chest and shoulders, his muscles looking far more developed and defined since the last time Scott saw him. Yet, underneath all of that it was undeniably him.

“Stiles,” The Sheriff voiced for him, having jumped up from his seat, his voice barely audible over the excitement around them. Scott could see his mom across the hallway stand in attention at his entrance, too shocked to move towards them.

Yet Stiles’ eyes passed over them, cold, exhausted and unrecognizing, surveying them just like he did the others in the room, sizing up a couple of them, seeming to be searching for any threats. The guards at his sides walked him over to an empty chair by a hospital room close by to where the pack was standing, jaws slack in awe and confusion. They uncuffed one of his hands to fashion the cuff around the armrest of the chair, one of them clenched into a fist. Stiles simply glared at the retreating soldiers as they left to stand at either sides of the hallway, the rest of the group coming to stand defensively and protectively around Stiles. 

They tried to call out to him again, walking up to the group, Scott trying this time, “Stiles, you’re okay!”  _Relatively speaking, that is_, if he was physically injured he would’ve been escorted into a hospital room. The thought barely helping Scott’s racing mind.

As soon as he opened his mouth, six pairs of eyes trained on him, glares threatening enough to effectively shut him up.

“Bugger off, shuckface,” a blond boy standing next to Stiles answered, revealing an English accent.

Off course that only succeeded in escalating the situation more, Derek’s wolves getting defensive in response, after recovering from their surprize. Scott, Lydia, Allison, and their parents still focused their attention on Stiles, who had remained quiet.

Jackson stepped forward, getting into the other teens face, failing to intimidate him as he demanded he stay out of it, as their words were directed at Stiles.

“Frankly, I don’t give klunk about what you want, so how about you shuck off before we make you,” the Asian teen at Stiles’ other side spat back venomously, his friends standing around him supportively ready to attest to the threat.

They went back and forth for awhile after that, causing the peacemakers of the pack to roll their eyes and try to defuse the tension as quickly as possible. However, neither would back down, Jackson stepped forward to make another comment before Stiles’ hoarse bellow up hushed them.

“Enough! I’m done hearing you slintheads bitch, either you shut your cake-holes or we  _will_ do it for you,” Stiles’ dismissal of the pack only confused them more. He simply brushed them off with a tired warning before resting his head back against the wall behind him, his hand clenching and unclenching, Scott realizing that he was holding something in that hand. He wouldn’t talk to them, he wouldn’t even _look_ at them! Scott figured that Stiles would’ve been hugging them and cracking jokes as soon as he saw them, then again he hadn’t expected to find his best friend handcuffed to a chair, covered in blood.  Maybe it was just shock?  No, this was different, it’s like he didn’t recognize them.

“Son,” The Sheriff started, stepping closer, not sure what exactly to say.

“Stiles, what’s the matter with you? We finally got you back, we found you, you’re safe,” Scott pleaded confused, wearing his signature kicked puppy expression.

“I don’t know who the shuck you people are, or why you’re calling me ‘Stiles’, and frankly, I don’t really care.” Stiles growled not bothering to stand up. “You won’t find what you’re looking for here, so beat it before I kick the klunk out of _two_ shuckfaced assholes in one-“ His words slowly dropped off as he glanced to his right. The elevator had chimed and two doctors and a guard wheeled in a seventh teenager, this one an unconscious boy on a stretcher, face severely beaten and bloody, one of his hands were also handcuffed to the side of the gurney. As the doctors rushed the man closer to them and into a hospital room nearby, Scott saw that Stiles had jumped to his feet, the other teens around him following in suit, glaring at the boy as they wheeled him in while some stared cautiously at Stiles, whose eyes, Scott noticed, showed a burning hate that frightened him.

“Okay, team huddle,” Erica suggested, seeing it as the best way to communicate the mass confusion they were all experiencing. Priority number one being the fact that Stiles seemed to have no idea who they were.

“What the hell is going on?!”

“Why doesn’t he recognize us?”

“Um, why is he _COVERED IN BLOOD?!_”

“What’s with that kid, Stiles looked like he wanted to kill him?”

“He seems to know the others, why doesn’t he remember us?”

“Look at his hands,” Allison pointed out, hushing the pack huddle as they all looked over their shoulders at Stiles, finally sitting down after seeing the other boy, still seething in anger. The leather wristlets he wore lead down to his hands; bloody, with his fists clenched tightly revealing his severely split knuckles. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, the only question was ‘ _why?_ ’

Scott’s mom rushed over to them, halting the oncoming barrage of questions she was sure they were about to pummel him with.

“Okay,” she whispered voice low and cautious, calling them all back to her, “I spoke to a couple guards to come up with some sort of explanation for this. Apparently they had tracked Stiles and the others to a secret facility in the middle of nowhere, they heard yelling and the sounds of a fight when they burst in, and found Stiles on top of another kid...covered in blood. The soldiers said that Stiles would’ve beaten the other boy to death if they hadn’t gotten there in time. That’s why he’s cuffed, they described Stiles as ‘unpredictable and violent’.”

She paused to let he information sink in. While the Sheriff looked mortified at the possibility that his Stiles would be capable of such things, Derek and his betas looked somewhat proud that Stiles had toughened up so much, enough to kick some serious ass.

Seeing her opportunity, Melissa stepped forward towards the group of strangers, her professional front a mask over her personal connection, right now she was to be a nurse, and Stiles wasn’t her son, he was her patient.

“Can I take a look at that?” She asked gesturing to Stiles’ split knuckles. His eyes narrowed in distrust, so she continued “This  _is _a hospital and I  _am _a nurse. I actually need to check over all of you for injuries,”

Stiles glanced over to the teen at his other side, the spitfire Asian boy from before, they shared a look, the man’s eyes then shifted to the others one by one, quickly scanning for any objections, each look communicating enough without needing words.  _They must be really close,_ Melissa noted, watching as they conceded to their terms. Stiles insisting that they all stay together and that his friends get treated first.  _He hasn’t changed that much__._ As a show of good faith, she’d convinced one of the guards to remove Stiles’ handcuffs, partly to get in the groups good graces, but also because she couldn’t take looking at him like that anymore, as if he was a criminal or a caged animal.

She slowly went down the line, her movements being carefully monitored by the other  _patients_, there were some nasty scrapes and bruises in the group, cracked ribs and a sprained ankle seemed to be the worst of it, both discovered when she was checking over Stiles, a reality that didn’t sit well in her stomach. She went through the whole routine, asking their names and how they got their injuries. Most of the questions were answered with glares and silence, resistant to reveal anything about themselves, yet some of them have sincere answers and jokes amuse their friends and irritate Melissa or the pack creeping closer behind her every so often. She’d interrogated a young man about a long cut on his arm to which he simply replied with, “I tripped.”

“Your turn, Thomas,” one of the jokers who had identified himself as a frying pan said. He seemed to be one of the nicer members of the group, cracking jokes and seeming to be far less agitated than the rest yet he seemed as emotionally exhausted as the rest of them. However, she couldn’t help but be surprised when the ‘Thomas’ in question was directed towards Stiles, clear as he began shifting to face her, keeping true to his word.

“Let’s just say that the sprained ankle and cracked ribs are from a fall, and the knuckles are from catching myself,” Stiles/‘Thomas’ started a dangerous smirk on his face, a mask covering how lifeless he felt inside, telling her that’s all she needed to know. The others chuckled a little at his shiftiness none of which whose smiles reached their eyes.

“What did you say your name was again?” Melissa asked smoothly, wanting to make sure she heard correctly, pressing at his left side, testing his cracked ribs.

“I didn’t,” was his answer, dark but playful like this was a game that he was pretending he wanted to play.

“Thomas, apparently,” he offered after a moment.

“‘Apparently’?”

“Our names are the only thing they let us keep, but even those aren’t real..  _apparently_ .” He explained, his small smirk back in place.

“Whose ‘they’? The people you were with while you were gone?”

“ _Taken,_ ” he corrected snapping at her, all faux ease and playfulness lost from his voice, replaced with anger. He’d leaned closer towards her face, their eyes never breaking contact. Melissa could feel the room tense around her, as well as the kids in front of her, prepared to defend ‘Thomas’, the pack confused as to the change that’d just occurred.

“We were  _taken_.” He let out a frustrated huff through his nose and flopped back into his chair, turning his head away from her, opting to look to the right at the others crowding the hallway. Following his gaze, Melissa had noticed that the number of people in the hall had depleted over time, likely from seeing that the last recovered patient that had been brought in was the one on the gurney. They realized that they wouldn’t be getting their kids back. She looked back to ‘Thomas’ his eyes surveyed the area a little before coming to a sudden halt, stopping on an older couple, holding each other, standing in the far corner of the hall. She could hear his breathing catch and watched as his clenched fist squeezed then released ever so slightly. As if making up his mind, he took in a breath, and pushed himself up out of the chair, forcing Melissa to step back, boots thumping on the tile floor as he approached the couple. She stayed crouched on the ground in front of the now vacant chair, slack jawed and confused as he walked up to them, watching as he gently got the couple’s attention and handed the woman something in his hand. Whatever it was; it was small and wooden and held some sort of importance to her, clutching it close to her as she continued to sob, curling into her husband still holding her other, empty hand. The woman turned to Stiles once more, grasping his hand tightly in hers, before her husband led them back towards the elevator. She didn’t hear any of the interaction, but she knew she didn’t have to. After a moment of watching them walk away, Stiles returned to his seat, looking forlorn but lighter, as if he wasn’t holding the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore. His friends shared knowing, sorrowful looks with him and each other as Stiles slid back into his seat.

Melissa took another leap of faith, her questioning look dissecting Stiles as he watched the couple enter the elevator, deciding that this was likely the most vulnerable he’d allow himself to be in her presence, she asked a final question, speaking softly in a comforting tone she received after years of being a nurse and mother.

“Why did you attack him?”

His eyes never left the couple, watching the elevator doors close and the people disappear, and in a voice just as soft as hers had been, he answered;

“Because he killed their son.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please share your thoughts and comment, I love reading them!! :)


End file.
